Author's note: This is something I composed ten years ago. Not sure why I held off on hitting the "Publish" button back then.
"I've got somebody interested in you building a model." The call came from my friend Ed Kaminski. He ran a really interesting place called The Military Art Gallery. It was a classy art gallery dedicated to -- you guessed it. His place was located in the city of Mount Clemens which was almost within spitting distance of Selfridge and wasn't terribly far from where I lived. He had a web site and kindly gave me a bit of space there. My business card made reference to "Three-Dimensional Aviation Art," so I felt quite comfortable associated with Ed's business.
One of his print buying customers, "Mark", decided he wanted a collection of 48th scale models flown by the aces. All the aces. Ed told him about me, and me about Mark. The initial phone call was made. Mark lived in Texas and was a football referee. He seemed to know WW II aviation quite well. The first project on the agenda was the F4F flown by Joe Foss at Guadalcanal. This was pretty easy. Joe Foss certainly flew any F4F that was ready to go at the time, but he apparently flew a typically nondescript Wildcat number 50 most often. If that made it "his" airplane, so be it.
What had me really excited about the collection Mark was envisioning, was that he wanted little vignettes consisting of the airplane on a small base and a pilot figure standing nearby. Man and his machine -- each useless without the other. To my mind, that's what the air combat thing was all about.
So the Wildcat project went ahead. With the Tamiya kit out there, it was about as easy as it could get. I modified a Monogram pilot figure a little bit, painted him up and stood him in front of the airplane, and hoped he looked a little like Joe Foss. I sent Mark photos and he was very pleased. Final payment was made, I said a prayer and shipped it all down to Texas. It arrived in perfect condition and Mark was quite happy.
I don't think the project went on for much more than a month. During that time I got quite a few calls from Mark. He just wanted to talk airplanes and models and compare notes with me on aces and their machines. I respected the guy for his willingness to open books and do a bit of research. He, like myself, was concerned with getting things right. In the middle of the project he sent me a copy of a big coffee table book of aviation art. It had Foss's Wildcat No.50 on the cover. Mark said he got a good deal on it, as it had a damaged dust cover. There was certainly nothing wrong with the book itself and I thanked him very much.
In addition to selling art prints, Ed and his Military Art Gallery occasionally put together symposiums that brought together pilots or crew members that made names for themselves in battle. He managed to contact two or three ex-Flying Tigers and made arrangements to bring them to his gallery. From there, they'd go to a theater in Mount Clemens and give a talk and sign items. Mark was hot to go to this thing, and it determined the subject of his second project from me. He wanted a model of the airplane flown by the highest scoring member of the AVG, Bob Neale. This task was not so clear cut.
If there was ever any firm documentation connecting Bob Neale to one airplane in particular, it hadn't surfaced at that point. The simple fact is that people were not running around with cameras taking pictures of heroes with their airplanes throughout WW II. There were more pressing matters, especially in the early days when the outcome was far from certain. The important thing was to have as many airplanes and pilots up and running as possible and not be fussy about who was flying what. And of all the photos that were taken, not all of them were published anyplace. This may not go down well with the ace-obcessed, but that was the reality. I was not going to spend any of my time hunting for something I was sure would not be found. I told Mark that I'd make his model look any way he wanted. I provided my thoughts on the subject.
Mark had a recently published book by an ex-Flying Tiger in which the author described Bob Neale saving his ass by shooting a Nate or something off of it. The author stated that he knew it was Neale because of the number 23 he saw on the Hawk's fuselage. We'd go with a number 23 on the model. Fine. If that was "Neale's airplane" or not, I wasn't going to argue. On that particular sortie, it allegedly was. Mark also wanted the full 15 kill score displayed on the fuselage. We decided that with all those kills showing, it would have been late enough in the Flying Tiger's history that the airplane could've been sporting the tiger insignia that eventually got displayed on the fuselages of the surviving planes. So, white 23, 1st squadron Adam and Eves badge and white band, 15 meatballs and the Flying Tiger insignia. For an AVG airplane, this would be pretty snazzy. (And unlikely, in my mind, but it's what the client wanted.)
There were many phone calls from Mark during the Flying Tiger project. He clearly was excited to have found someone who spoke and appreciated his own language. I sent him photos of other models I'd finished for reference to models he wanted to see up the road and we discussed those. And we spoke of the Flying Tiger symposium coming up. The plan was for the model to be finished for that event, Mark would fly in, take in the program and take his model home with him on the flight back. This couldn't work out better. I'd meet the guy and I wouldn't have to box the model and sweat out the shipping to Texas again.
I don't remember there being a problem with getting the project done on time. I sent Mark photos of the much fancied up Monogram "Tiger Shark" and the Verlinden pilot figure standing nearby, posing as Bob Neale. Mark was very happy with what was coming his way. We discussed his coming to Detroit, and I agreed to collect him Metro Airport. This would be a 200+ mile round trip for me, but I thought it would be worth it in the long run. Mark was a very interesting guy on the phone, and Ed Kaminski assured me he was a respectable buyer of prints. Plus he was into this historic aviation business deep enough to fly up from Texas to hear old veterans talk about their exploits. He'd been to at least one of these symposiums previously. This all suggested to me the guy would be valuable to get in real good with. And the simple fact was, I hardly ever got to meet the people that bought my models. I longed to see the faces when they first viewed their new acquisition.
The Friday of the event arrived. I took the model to Ed's gallery and parked it on a shelf there for all the Flying Tiger fans due that weekend to see. Then I was off to Detroit Metro to meet Mark. I would meet him as he deplaned. I'd asked him how I'd know him, never having seen his picture. He told me not to worry; he'd know me. He'd seen my image on the Military Art Gallery's web site. I'm sure I added something about spotting the short guy with the red hair.
I got to the airport in plenty of time. The DC-9 rolled up, the people tube was attached, the door at the arrival gate opened and passengers started streaming out. I stood there with a grin on my face and waited for a smiling Mark to reach out and shake my hand. I was once again amazed at how many people they could stuff into an airliner as all the folks strolled past. All the folks did stroll past. None of them to my knowledge gave me a second look.
What happened? Did he miss his flight? He must've. Now what the hell do I do? Would he be on the next one? When and where would that one arrive? What do in the meantime? %$#@! Don't panic. I did what I was supposed to do. I played my part. Who to call. Of course I didn't have Mark's number on me. I could call home but nobody would be there to answer late in the afternoon. If Mark had left some sort of a message, it wouldn't be until Molly got home from work that I'd know what it was. In the meantime, what to do -- where to go. %$#@, %$#@, %$#@! Few things make me crazier than losing or wasting time. My time literally is money. No team of elves labors at my workbench when I'm not there. Time spent wandering an airport is time NOT spent working at Hawx Planes.
So I wandered. I called home and left Molly a message that things had gone off the rails, and a plan B had yet to be formulated. After maybe 40 minutes of great unhappiness, who did I discover at a pay phone but Ed Kaminski! He was there to collect his Flying Tiger celebrities who had yet to arrive. "Did you hook up with Mark?" he asked.
"No. He missed the plane apparently."
"He's here."
"WHAT!?"
"Yeah. He wanted to know if I'd seen you anyplace."
I told Ed my short unhappy story, with a mix of great relief and extreme puzzlement. This turned to a good bit of anger when I realized Mark had not missed his plane and had marched right past me. Marched past and went where? I'd hung around the gate for some time. I was not to worry, he'd know me. Yeah, right. I called home again and this time Molly was there to answer. I filled her in on the new development. I think Mark had called. I know Molly said his wife had called and she sounded a bit accusatory over the situation, like I was screwing up her husband's vacation or something.
This was nearly seven years ago and I don't remember exactly how I knew to find him at a bank of pay phones, but that was the new plan. Nor do I remember how I was to recognize him, unless Ed told me what he was wearing. However it worked out, I found an oldish guy in jacket and tie on the phone with someone, I assume his wife. I stood in front of him and smiled, and he stared at me. Not a hint of recognition. "Mark?" I asked. He studied me like I was some strange bug. What on earth was he expecting? He'd know me, he'd said.
When it finally clicked in his brain, he told the person on the other end of the phone good-bye and hung up. I don't remember any overly friendly greeting or smiles. Maybe there was a handshake. What there wasn't was any kind of apology for his dropping the ball here and wasting a good chunk of time for both of us. We did a long walk to the car, then headed off in the direction of his hotel. The good news was that he did seem to be a smart and interesting guy. Maybe we just got off on the wrong foot.
As it was late in the day, he wanted to buy me supper. Cool. He picked some uninspiring family style place near his hotel. It wasn't the kind of place you'd expect much from, but Mark found a few things not to his liking. If you want a four star experience, go to a four star place, I thought. Whatever I had was satisfactory. When we finished, Mark went to pay the bill. He got into an extended conversation with the hostess at the cash register. I was a short distance away from the conversation and only heard snippets. Mark's tone was matter-of-fact; the hostess's apologetic. I believe Mark talked his way out of paying what may have been a $25 bill.
From there I took him to Ed's place to meet Flying Tigers and see his model. The old pilots beamed like happy grandfathers -- which they probably were. Roy Grinnell the aviation artist was there too, with a painting featuring Tex Hill and his P-40 in action. He didn't know who I was, and I watched and listened as he pointed to my model and told somebody it was very nice, and based on some of the details, he'd have to say whoever was responsible knew his stuff. That was mighty nice to hear. I'm pretty sure Mark heard it too.
The Friday evening thing wound down and it was time for me to be heading home. It was at this point that I came to know what Mark had mistakenly figured was the plan. To his dismay, he found out I did not buy any ticket to the Saturday symposium, had no interest in attending and surprise, suprise, I was not going to be his personal taxi and tour guide for the weekend. And it dawned on me that I was expected to take this guy (who I was finding less impressive) back to the airport on Sunday morning. Another 200 miles and too many hours "donated" to the Flying Tiger project. Well...at least I didn't have to ship the model.
So I got up early that Sunday to finish wasting a big chunk of weekend. I got to Mark's hotel to load him up and hear that on second thought, he didn't want to carry the model home with him. My shipping it would be fine. Ohhhh, the icing on the cake. Wasn't a hand delivery a major attraction of this weekend for me?
He got off without a hitch, having saved a small fortune in taxi fees for the weekend. I thought about the book he'd sent me early on and that kind of clicked into place. Cheap, damaged goods. Mark was all about getting more for less -- or nothing. He called shortly thereafter to report the model arrived in fine shape. I don't remember what project he was considering next. I don't know if he detected any change in my tone when we spoke on the phone. He did ask when I was sending some more model photos. He'd gotten a new photo album specially for them.
Well wasn't that interesting? Buying a couple models meant he got a free subscription of model pictures too? I gathered all the reject photos I could. Out of focus, light leaked, nose/tail/wingtip cut off, packaged them up and sent them to Texas. I can't imagine I sent any kind of note. I expected the message to be clear.
I don't know if Mark's ace collection has expanded since then, but he's only gotten the two from me. I didn't charge him nearly enough.